Chapter 80: Samuel VS Elsa
The rain had stopped by morning, leaving Aethelburg glistening under a pale gold sky. Puddles mirrored the crystal towers, and the canals ran high and fast with runoff from the storm. The air smelled clean—wet stone, blooming jasmine, the faint mineral tang of the floating bridges humming with residual charge.
Samuel Moodsway stood at the edge of the training grounds, his dreadlocks damp against his shoulders, his bare feet sinking into the soft earth. He'd taken off his sandals an hour ago. The ground felt better that way. More connected.
His team was scattered around him—Carnivine lounging in a patch of weeds, Ambipom doing handstands on the stone wall, Doduo pacing back and forth with its two heads arguing about something only they could understand.
"You sure about this?" Briv asked from the sidelines.
Samuel turned, smiling slow.
"Always sure, brother. That's the trick."
Patricia sat on the stone bench beside Briv, Lopunny curled at her feet. Nicola leaned against the floodlight pole, arms crossed, her sharp eyes tracking Elsa's approach from across the field.
Elsa.
She moved like winter given form—platinum hair braided over one shoulder, ice-blue gown shimmering with each step, faint trails of frost crystallizing in her wake. She didn't walk so much as glide, her presence radiating calm authority.
Behind her, three Pokéballs floated in a slow orbit, suspended by psychic energy or something older.
Axel stood at the center of the arena, Rotom flickering above his shoulder.
"Three-on-three," he said. "No substitutions. Begin when I signal."
Samuel rolled his shoulders.
"Let's make it a good one."
Elsa inclined her head. "I expect nothing less."
---
Carnivine took the field first.
The Grass-type slithered forward, its vine-covered body rustling, its wide red mouth splitting into something that might have been a grin. Its tendrils swayed hypnotically, and it fixed its bulbous eyes on Elsa with patient hunger.
Elsa drew her first ball.
"Walrein."
The Ice Break Pokémon materialized in a burst of frost and salt spray. It was massive—easily six feet from tusk to tail—with thick blubber, shaggy white fur, and tusks that curved like scimitars. Its breath fogged the air, and the ground beneath it crackled with ice.
"Begin."
Carnivine moved first.
"Power Whip."
The vines lashed out.
Walrein didn't dodge. It didn't need to. The vines struck its blubber and bounced off, leaving nothing but faint red lines. Walrein grunted—more annoyed than injured—and shook itself.
"Ice Ball."
The sphere formed in Walrein's mouth and launched across the arena. Carnivine tried to dodge, but the ice was fast—faster than it looked—and it caught the Grass-type across the side.
Carnivine hissed.
"Again," Elsa said. "Ice Ball."
Another sphere. Bigger this time.
Carnivine dodged.
Barely.
"Keep moving," Samuel called. "Don't let it build momentum."
Carnivine slithered sideways, its vines trailing, its eyes never leaving Walrein. Another Ice Ball. Another dodge. But Walrein wasn't stopping—it was building speed, each sphere larger and faster than the last.
"Now," Samuel said. "Grass Knot."
Carnivine's vines shot along the ground.
Walrein took a step.
The vines tangled around its flippers.
Walrein stumbled.
"Now. Power Whip."
The vines lashed across Walrein's face—again, again, again—each strike finding the soft tissue around its eyes, its nose, its mouth. Walrein roared, trying to shake free, but the Grass Knot held it in place.
"Blizzard."
The storm erupted from Walrein's body.
Carnivine screamed.
The ice and wind tore through the Grass-type, freezing its vines, cracking its leaves, driving it backward across the arena. It hit the wall and didn't move.
"Carnivine is unable to battle," Axel said. "Walrein wins."
---
Samuel recalled Carnivine.
He didn't look worried.
He looked amused.
"You're good," he said.
Elsa's expression didn't change. "I know."
Samuel drew his second ball.
"Ambipom."
The Long Tail Pokémon bounced onto the field, its twin tails waving like banners, its eyes bright with mischief. It chattered at Walrein, bouncing from foot to foot, and Walrein watched it with the weary patience of a creature that had seen too many hyperactive opponents.
"Begin."
Ambipom moved first.
"Swift."
The stars shot from its mouth—a stream of golden light that forced Walrein to close its eyes and turn away. Ambipom used the distraction, darting forward, its tails lashing out.
"Double Hit."
The tails struck Walrein's flank.
Walrein grunted.
"Frost Breath."
The icy wind caught Ambipom mid-leap and sent it tumbling backward. It landed on its feet—barely—and shook itself, frost clinging to its fur.
"Again," Elsa said. "Frost Breath."
Ambipom dodged.
It was fast—faster than Carnivine, faster than anything Walrein had faced so far—and it moved with a chaotic, unpredictable rhythm that made it hard to track. It bounced off the walls, swung from the floodlights, used its tails to propel itself in directions that shouldn't have been possible.
"Swift."
Another stream of stars.
Walrein closed its eyes.
Ambipom attacked.
"Double Hit."
The tails struck—once, twice, three times—each one finding a different spot. Walrein staggered, its blubber trembling, its tusks scraping the ground.
"Blizzard."
The storm erupted.
Ambipom tried to dodge.
It was too close.
The ice caught it, and Ambipom flew backward, tumbling end over end. It hit the wall—hard—and slid down, leaving a smear of purple fur and blood on the stone.
It didn't get up.
"Ambipom is unable to battle," Axel said. "Walrein wins."
---
Samuel recalled Ambipom.
He looked at Doduo.
Doduo looked back—both heads, simultaneously—and nodded.
"You ready?"
Both heads nodded again.
"Then let's go."
---
Doduo sprinted onto the field.
The Twin Bird Pokémon moved like wind—fast, relentless, its two heads scanning, analyzing, reacting. It circled Walrein in a blur of brown and cream, its powerful legs eating up the distance.
"Begin."
Doduo moved first.
"Quick Attack."
It slammed into Walrein's side.
Walrein grunted.
"Drill Peck."
Doduo's beak spun.
It struck Walrein's flank—once, twice, three times—each hit finding the same spot, drilling through blubber and muscle. Walrein roared.
"Blizzard."
The storm erupted.
Doduo dodged.
It was fast—faster than Ambipom, faster than anything Walrein had faced—and it moved with a precision that bordered on prescient. It knew where the ice would fall before it fell. It knew where Walrein would strike before it struck.
"Again. Drill Peck."
Another strike.
Another.
Walrein staggered.
It was weakening—Samuel could see it, the way its breath came ragged, the way its legs trembled, the way its eyes had lost their cold focus. It had taken too many hits. Fought too many opponents.
"Blizzard."
The storm erupted—weaker this time, less focused.
Doduo dodged.
"Quick Attack."
Doduo slammed into Walrein's chest.
Walrein fell.
It didn't get up.
"Walrein is unable to battle," Axel said. "Doduo wins."
---
Elsa recalled Walrein.
She didn't look upset.
She looked interested.
"Dewgong."
---
The Sea Lion Pokémon materialized in a shimmer of white and blue, its sleek body gleaming, its horn spiraling from its forehead. It moved with an elegance that Walrein lacked—fluid, graceful, almost beautiful—and its eyes held a quiet intelligence.
"Begin."
Doduo moved first.
"Quick Attack."
Dewgong didn't dodge.
It slid sideways.
Doduo passed through empty air.
"Ice Beam."
The beam caught Doduo across the wing and sent it tumbling. It recovered quickly—but not quickly enough.
"Aurora Beam."
The rainbow light struck Doduo's chest.
Doduo screeched—both heads, simultaneously—and staggered.
"Drill Peck."
Doduo attacked.
Dewgong dodged.
It moved like water—flowing around Doduo's strikes, never where the attack was, always where it wasn't. Doduo couldn't land a hit.
"Again. Ice Beam."
The beam caught Doduo's leg.
Doduo fell.
It tried to rise—tried to push itself up—but its leg wouldn't cooperate. It collapsed, breathing hard, both heads panting.
"Doduo is unable to battle," Axel said. "Dewgong wins."
---
Samuel recalled Doduo.
He looked at his final ball.
Then at Elsa.
Then at the ball again.
"Alright, girl," he murmured. "One more."
He threw.
"Nosepass."
---
The Compass Pokémon materialized with a heavy thud, its blocky blue body gleaming under the floodlights, its massive red nose pointing north. It stood perfectly still, its eyes wide and unblinking, and its magnetic field hummed with quiet power.
Dewgong looked at it.
Nosepass looked back.
"Begin."
Dewgong moved first.
"Ice Beam."
The beam struck Nosepass dead center.
Nosepass didn't flinch.
"Thunder Wave."
The electric pulse shot from Nosepass's body.
Dewgong tried to dodge.
It was too slow.
The paralysis took hold, and Dewgong's muscles locked, its sleek body twitching, its movements reduced to jerky, stuttering motions.
"Now. Rock Slide."
The boulders appeared above Dewgong's head.
They fell.
Dewgong tried to dodge.
It couldn't.
The rocks crashed down, and Dewgong disappeared beneath them. When the dust cleared, it lay on the ground, breathing shallow, its horn cracked.
It didn't get up.
"Dewgong is unable to battle," Axel said. "Nosepass wins."
---
Elsa recalled Dewgong.
She looked at Nosepass.
Then at Samuel.
Then she smiled.
It was the first time Samuel had seen her smile, and it transformed her face—softened the regal lines, warmed the frozen eyes, made her look almost human.
"You're better than I expected."
Samuel grinned.
"I get that a lot."
She drew her final ball.
"Lapras."
---
The Transport Pokémon materialized in a shimmer of blue and silver, its long neck arching gracefully, its shell gleaming like polished pearl. It was beautiful—impossibly beautiful—and its eyes held the deep, ancient wisdom of oceans crossed and storms weathered.
Nosepass looked at it.
Lapras looked back.
"Begin."
Lapras moved first.
"Hydro Pump."
The water cannon erupted from Lapras's mouth.
Nosepass took the hit.
It slid backward—several feet—but it didn't fall. Its magnetic field hummed, grounding it, anchoring it to the earth.
"Thunder Wave."
The electric pulse shot forward.
Lapras dodged.
It was fast—faster than Dewgong, faster than Walrein—and it moved with a grace that made Nosepass's attacks look clumsy by comparison.
"Ice Beam."
The beam caught Nosepass across the face.
Nosepass staggered.
"Rock Slide."
The boulders appeared.
Lapras dodged.
The rocks crashed harmlessly to the ground.
"Hydro Pump."
Another cannon.
Nosepass took it.
It slid backward again—more this time—and cracks appeared in its blocky body. It was weakening. Samuel could see it. But it wasn't done yet.
"Nosepass, listen."
Nosepass's eye twitched.
"You're a compass. You always know where you're going. So do that."
Nosepass's magnetic field flared.
"Thunder Wave."
The pulse shot forward.
Lapras dodged.
But Nosepass didn't stop.
It kept firing—pulse after pulse, each one forcing Lapras to move, to react, to keep dodging. And each dodge brought it closer to the wall.
"Now. Rock Slide."
The boulders appeared—not above Lapras, but behind it.
Lapras couldn't dodge.
It was trapped.
The rocks crashed down, and Lapras disappeared beneath them. When the dust cleared, it lay on the ground, breathing shallow, its shell cracked, its beautiful neck bent at an angle that made Samuel wince.
It didn't get up.
"Lapras is unable to battle," Axel said. "Nosepass wins. Samuel wins the match."
---
Silence.
Then applause.
Patricia was clapping.
Nicola was whistling.
Briv was grinning.
Samuel walked to Nosepass and knelt beside it, running his hand along its cracked body.
"You did good, girl."
Nosepass hummed.
Elsa approached, her gown trailing frost across the earth. She stopped in front of Samuel and inclined her head.
"That was well fought."
Samuel stood.
"Thanks. You too."
She looked at Nosepass.
"Your Nosepass is remarkable. I've never seen one fight with such... purpose."
Samuel smiled.
"She's got a good sense of direction."
Elsa laughed.
It was a surprising sound—light, warm, almost girlish. It didn't match her regal bearing at all.
"I hope we meet again," she said. "In the League, perhaps."
Samuel nodded.
"I'll look forward to it."
She turned and walked away, her Pokéballs floating behind her, her frost trailing across the grass.
---
Briv walked up.
"Nine wins now?"
Samuel nodded.
"Nine."
"That's impressive."
Samuel looked at him.
"You've got thirteen. Don't patronize me."
Briv laughed.
"Fair."
They stood together, watching the clouds drift across the sky. The floodlights hummed. The city sang its quiet song.
"The League's in twenty-three days," Briv said.
Samuel nodded.
"I know."
"You ready?"
Samuel looked at his team—Carnivine, Ambipom, Doduo, Nosepass, Hippopotas, Sudowoodo—and smiled.
"Always."
---
Later that evening, Samuel found himself on the roof of the inn.
He liked it up here. The city spread out below him like a tapestry of light and shadow, the crystal towers glittering, the canals reflecting the stars. The air was cool and clean, and the music of the streets drifted up—laughter, conversation, the distant hum of a guitar.
He sat cross-legged on the tiles, his dreadlocks loose around his shoulders, and closed his eyes.
Footsteps on the roof.
He didn't open them.
"You're brooding," Patricia said.
He smiled.
"That's Briv's line."
"He's not here."
Samuel opened his eyes.
Patricia sat down beside him, her blond hair loose, her blue eyes soft. She wore a simple white dress, and her feet were bare against the tiles.
"You fought well today," she said.
"Thanks."
"Elsa's tough. I've seen her battle before."
Samuel nodded.
"She's good. Really good."
"But you won."
"I won."
They sat in silence.
The city hummed.
"You know," Patricia said, "I used to think you were just... chill. Like nothing bothered you."
Samuel looked at her.
"And now?"
She smiled.
"Now I think you feel everything. You just don't let it show."
He didn't answer.
She reached over and took his hand.
He let her.
---
The night deepened.
The stars wheeled overhead.
And somewhere in the city, in the shadows between the crystal towers, the Eclipse Squad was watching.
Revan Stormcloud stood on a rooftop across from the inn, his silver-gray eyes fixed on the two figures silhouetted against the sky. His black coat billowed in the wind, and his Eclipse Squad emblem gleamed.
"They're getting stronger," Roger said beside him.
"I know."
"The League—"
"I know."
Revan smiled.
It wasn't a nice smile.
"Let them get stronger," he said. "It'll make breaking them so much sweeter."
He turned and walked away.
Roger followed.
The night swallowed them whole.
=====
The inn's common room had emptied out by midnight, leaving only the low crackle of the hearth and the distant hum of the city beyond the windows. Briv sat at the wooden table, a cold cup of tea at his elbow, his eyes fixed on the map of Elyssia spread before him. Patricia had gone to bed an hour ago. Nicola had left without saying goodbye—typical. Dariana was somewhere upstairs, probably stretching, probably thinking about tomorrow's training.
Samuel was still on the roof.
Briv could feel him up there, a quiet presence against the stars.
He didn't go up.
Instead, he pulled out his notebook—the battered leather journal he'd carried since he'd started his journey—and flipped to the last page. The numbers stared back at him, neat columns in Patricia's handwriting.
Briv: 13/15. 10 wins. 3 losses. QUALIFIED.
Patricia: 10/15. 8 wins. 2 losses. 4 remaining.
Nicola: 11/15. 8 wins. 3 losses. 4 remaining.
Dariana: 12/15. 9 wins. 3 losses. 3 remaining.
Samuel: 11/15. 9 wins. 2 losses. 4 remaining.
He traced the numbers with his finger.
Ten wins. That was the threshold. Ten wins out of fifteen challenges, and you punched your ticket to the League. Briv had crossed that line weeks ago—the battle against Marcus had been his tenth, though he hadn't realized it until Patricia had shown him the tally. The relief had been quiet, almost anticlimactic. He'd expected to feel something bigger. Instead, he'd just felt tired.
Now he looked at the others.
Patricia needed two more wins from her remaining four matches. She'd been steady all season—no dramatic streaks, no crushing defeats—just consistent, intelligent battling. She'd face her next challenge in three days against a trainer from the northern provinces, some kid with a reputation for unpredictable strategies.
Nicola needed two more wins from four matches. Her record was marred by three losses, all of them close, all of them against opponents she should have beaten. She'd been reckless lately—too aggressive, too eager to prove something—and it had cost her. Briv knew she'd been training harder than ever, pushing her team to the brink, trying to sharpen the edge that had dulled.
Dariana needed just one more win. One. And she had three matches left. The odds were in her favor, but Briv knew she wouldn't relax. She never did. She'd keep training, keep strategizing, keep pushing until the moment she stepped onto the League's main stage.
Samuel needed one more win too. Two, actually. Wait—no. He had nine. He needed ten. One more victory from his remaining four matches, and he'd be qualified.
Briv closed the notebook.
The fire crackled.
He thought about the League—really thought about it—for the first time in weeks. Last year, he'd won. He'd stood on that podium with Infernape—no, Monferno then—at his side, and he'd held the championship trophy above his head while the crowd screamed his name.
It had felt like everything.
It had felt like nothing.
Because the moment the lights had dimmed and the crowd had dispersed and the trophy had been packed away in its velvet case, he'd realized something: winning didn't fill the hole. It didn't answer the questions. It didn't make the anger go away.
He'd spent the last year trying to figure out what would.
He still didn't know.
---
The next morning arrived with gray skies and the promise of rain.
Briv found Samuel in the garden, sitting cross-legged on the stone bench, his eyes closed, his breathing slow. Doduo stood beside him, both heads alert, watching the clouds.
"You're up early," Briv said.
Samuel opened one eye.
"Never went to sleep."
Briv sat down beside him.
"Patricia?"
"She went to bed. I stayed up."
"Why?"
Samuel shrugged.
"Thinking."
Briv didn't push.
They sat in silence for a while.
"You know," Samuel said eventually, "I never thought I'd get this far."
Briv looked at him.
"What do you mean?"
"The League. Ten wins. All of it." Samuel's dreadlocks shifted as he turned his head. "I started this journey because I wanted to make music. Pokémon were just... a way to travel. A way to see the world."
"And now?"
Samuel smiled.
"Now I can't imagine doing anything else."
Briv nodded.
"I know the feeling."
---
Patricia emerged from the inn an hour later, her hair damp from the shower, her eyes bright. Lopunny walked beside her, its long ears twitching, its gaze sweeping the garden with quiet vigilance.
"Breakfast," she announced. "I made pancakes."
Briv's stomach growled.
"Marry me."
She laughed.
"Ask me again after the League."
---
They ate in the common room, the five of them—Briv, Patricia, Samuel, Dariana, and Nicola, who had appeared from her room looking tired but alert. The pancakes were good, the coffee was strong, and for a while, the conversation was easy.
Then Nicola set down her fork.
"We need to talk about the League."
The room went quiet.
"What about it?" Dariana asked.
Nicola leaned back in her chair.
"The qualification standings. We all know where we stand, but we haven't actually talked about it. Not really."
Patricia nodded.
"She's right."
Briv looked around the table.
"Alright," he said. "Let's talk."
---
Nicola went first.
"I've got eight wins. Three losses. Four matches left." She traced the rim of her coffee cup with her finger. "I need two more wins to qualify. That means I can afford one more loss—maybe—but I'd rather not test it."
"You'll qualify," Dariana said.
"I know." Nicola's eyes were sharp. "But I need to be smart about it. No more reckless battles. No more picking fights I can't win."
Patricia spoke next.
"I've got eight wins too. Two losses. Four matches left." She glanced at Briv. "I need two more wins. Same as Nicola."
"But you've got fewer losses," Samuel pointed out.
"Doesn't matter. Ten wins is ten wins."
Dariana leaned forward.
"I've got nine wins. Three losses. Three matches left." She smiled. "One more win and I'm in."
"That should be easy," Briv said.
"It should be." Dariana's smile faded. "But I'm not going to assume anything. The last three matches are against tough opponents. I've seen their records."
Samuel nodded.
"I've got nine wins too. Two losses. Four matches left." He stretched his arms over his head. "One more win. That's all I need."
"And you?" Nicola looked at Briv.
Briv met her gaze.
"Thirteen challenges. Ten wins. Three losses." He paused. "I'm qualified."
The words hung in the air.
"Congratulations," Samuel said.
"Thanks."
"Seriously," Patricia added. "You did it. You're going to the League."
Briv nodded.
"I know."
But he didn't feel like celebrating.
---
The conversation shifted after that.
They talked about strategies—which opponents to target, which to avoid, how to manage their teams' stamina over the remaining weeks. Nicola suggested a joint training session; Dariana agreed; Samuel offered to referee. Patricia volunteered to scout the remaining challengers, using her network of contacts to gather intelligence.
Briv listened.
He contributed when asked.
But his mind was elsewhere.
---
Later, he found himself on the roof.
The sky was still gray, the clouds heavy with unshed rain. The city sprawled below him, its crystal towers dulled by the overcast, its canals reflecting nothing but shadow.
Infernape stood beside him.
"You knew," Briv said. "Didn't you?"
Infernape looked at him.
"When you evolved. You knew I was struggling."
Infernape's tail flickered.
"You knew I needed something to believe in."
Infernape pressed its head against his shoulder.
Briv closed his eyes.
"I don't know what I'm doing," he said. "I won last year. I should be happy. I should be excited. But I'm not."
Infernape didn't answer.
It didn't need to.
---
The rain started an hour later.
Briv stayed on the roof, letting it soak through his clothes, letting it wash away the thoughts he couldn't name. Infernape stood beside him, its flames hissing in the downpour, its eyes fixed on the horizon.
Below, in the city, the Eclipse Squad was moving.
Revan stood in the shadows of a narrow alley, his silver-gray eyes gleaming, his black coat dripping with rain. Roger and Callum flanked him, their faces hard, their hands resting on their Pokéballs.
"The League," Revan said. "That's where we'll strike."
Roger nodded.
"During the tournament?"
"After." Revan smiled. "When they're exhausted. When they're celebrating. When they think they've won."
Callum cracked his knuckles.
"I like it."
Revan turned, his coat swirling.
"Let's go. We've got work to do."
They vanished into the rain.
---
Patricia found Briv on the roof an hour later.
He was sitting on the tiles, his clothes soaked, his hair plastered to his forehead. Infernape sat beside him, its flames dimmed to embers.
"You're going to catch a cold," she said.
"I know."
She sat down beside him.
"What's wrong?"
He didn't answer.
She waited.
"I don't know," he said finally. "I should be happy. I qualified. I'm going back to the League. But I feel..."
"Empty?"
He looked at her.
"Yeah."
She took his hand.
"That's normal."
"Is it?"
She nodded.
"When you've been chasing something for so long, it's hard to know what to do when you catch it."
He squeezed her fingers.
"I don't want to feel like this."
"Then don't."
He blinked.
"It's not that simple."
"It can be." She turned to face him. "You're not the same person you were last year. You've grown. You've changed. The League isn't the end—it's just the next step."
He stared at her.
"You really believe that?"
She smiled.
"I believe in you."
---
The rain stopped.
The clouds parted.
And somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled across the mountains.
The League was twenty-two days away.
And Briv Ambertone—champion, qualifier, survivor—had a choice to make.
He could keep chasing the past.
Or he could let it go.
=====
The evening came soft and slow, twilight bleeding indigo across the sky, and the inn's common room filled with the smell of something simmering in the kitchen. Dariana had taken over the stove, her long fingers dancing over pots and pans, her dark hair tied back in a messy knot. She hummed while she cooked—something melodic, something unfamiliar—and her Pokémon watched from various corners of the room.
Gallade stood by the window, still as a statue, its red eyes scanning the street below.
Pachirisu was curled on the counter, its fluffy white tail wrapped around its nose, fast asleep.
Shellos rested in a shallow basin of water near the hearth, its antennae swaying gently, its eyes half-closed.
And Croagunk sat cross-legged on the floor, its orange throat sac pulsing as it watched Dariana work.
"Smells good," Nicola said from the couch.
Dariana glanced over her shoulder.
"It is good."
"Modest."
"Honest."
Nicola laughed.
---
They ate together—all five of them, plus the Pokémon—and the conversation drifted from training schedules to battle strategies to the absurdity of Roger's leather pants. Patricia told a story about a challenger who'd tried to bribe her with a bag of rare candies. Samuel told a story about a Sudowoodo that had refused to move for three hours because it didn't like the weather.
The room filled with laughter.
The fire crackled.
For a moment, everything was simple.
---
After dinner, Dariana pulled Briv aside.
Her dark eyes were serious.
"I need to ask you something."
Briv leaned against the wall.
"Okay."
"You've been... distant lately. Ever since the battle with Marcus." She crossed her arms. "Is everything alright?"
Briv looked at her.
"Define 'alright'."
"Don't do that." Her voice was soft but firm. "Don't deflect. I'm your friend. I'm asking because I care."
He sighed.
"I know."
"So?"
He ran a hand through his hair.
"I'm tired," he said. "Tired of fighting. Tired of pretending I'm fine when I'm not. Tired of—"
He stopped.
Dariana waited.
"Tired of carrying the weight," he finished.
She stepped closer.
"You don't have to carry it alone."
He looked at her.
"I know."
"Do you?"
He didn't answer.
She reached up and touched his cheek.
"I'm here," she said. "We're all here. Patricia, Nicola, Samuel. Even Axel, in his weird, grumpy way."
Briv smiled.
"He's not grumpy. He's just... Axel."
Dariana laughed.
"Fair."
They stood together in the hallway, the sounds of the inn drifting around them—laughter, conversation, the distant clink of dishes.
"Thank you," Briv said.
"For what?"
"For being you."
She smiled.
"Always."
---
Later that night, Briv found himself in the garden again.
The clouds had cleared, and the stars blazed overhead, their light reflecting off the crystal towers in the distance. He sat on the stone bench, Infernape beside him, and watched the sky.
Footsteps.
He turned.
Nicola walked toward him, her blond hair loose around her shoulders, her sharp brown eyes catching the starlight. She wore a simple black tank top and shorts, and her feet were bare against the grass.
"Couldn't sleep?" she asked.
"No."
She sat down beside him.
They didn't speak for a while.
"You know," she said eventually, "I used to think you were lucky."
Briv looked at her.
"What do you mean?"
"Last year. The championship. I thought you had it easy." She leaned back, her eyes on the stars. "I thought you were just... naturally good. That everything came to you without effort."
"And now?"
She turned her head.
"Now I know better."
He didn't answer.
She reached over and took his hand.
"You work harder than anyone I've ever met," she said. "You push yourself past breaking. You don't stop. You don't quit."
He squeezed her fingers.
"I don't know how to."
She smiled.
"I know."
---
They sat together in the dark, their hands intertwined, and the city hummed its quiet song.
The League was twenty-two days away.
And for the first time in weeks, Briv felt something other than weight.
He felt hope.
---
The next morning, the group gathered in the training grounds.
Axel was there, as always, his green eyes sharp, his Rotom flickering around his head. He didn't say much—he never did—but his presence was steady, grounding.
"Ten days," he said. "That's how long you have left."
Briv frowned.
"Ten days?"
"The qualification window closes in ten days." Axel crossed his arms. "After that, you either have your ten wins or you don't."
The group exchanged glances.
Patricia stepped forward.
"I've got four matches left. I need two wins."
Nicola nodded.
"Same."
Dariana spoke.
"Three matches. One win."
Samuel shrugged.
"Four matches. One win."
Axel looked at them.
"Then I suggest you don't waste any time."
He turned and walked away, Rotom trailing behind him.
---
The group stood in silence.
Then Patricia spoke.
"We need to train. Together."
Briv nodded.
"When?"
"Today. Tomorrow. Every day until the window closes."
Nicola cracked her knuckles.
"I'm in."
Dariana smiled.
"Always."
Samuel stretched.
"Let's do it."
Briv looked at each of them—his friends, his rivals, his family—and felt something shift in his chest.
"Alright," he said. "Let's get to work."
---
They trained until sundown.
They ran drills, practiced combinations, studied opponents, refined strategies. They pushed their Pokémon to their limits and then pushed them further. They argued, laughed, sweated, bled.
They didn't stop.
Because the League was twenty-two days away.
And none of them were going to miss it.